The Rescue
by Kaine Hetter
Summary: Sherlock goes missing and its up to John to save his best friend after the police are left clueless.


This was ridiculous, Dr. John Watson was practically used to his monthly kidnapping by now, but being on the other side of things was something altogether different. He stood in the middle of the living room he shared with a high functioning sociopath only to find his flatmate to be missing from the premises. Now any other day and John would have assumed that he was off investigating a crime that no one else believed had been committed or down at the morgue pretending to flirt with the ever hopeful Molly Hooper so as to gain access to a dead body, but today was very different. Today John stood just beyond the doorway of his flat gasping for air while staring alarmed at the pink I-Phone he clutched in his left hand wondering 'how the fuck did all this happen'.

"I need a pen"

The command was issued from around a black laptop, at a certain doctor sitting across the room.

Silence ensued as the intended recipient of the message completely ignored it.

"A pen"

"pennnnn"

"Yes I heard you the first time Sherlock, I am not deaf. You are going to have to be big boy and get it yourself."

There was no reply just a bored stare from the detective as John tried hard to ignore him.

"…"

"Fine, I'll get it already but one day when I'm not here you'll have to figure out the complexities of getting a pen yourself"

"And why should you not be here, is there something else you would rather be doing… something more exciting perhaps?" Sherlock looked highly amused at the implication, but realizing that he had the needed pen he quickly took to writing, writing what John did not know.

John rolled his eyes at the comment. He was beginning to regret that blog entry in which he basically admitted his addiction to the drug Sherlock was offering, adrenaline. He never felt more at ease than when he was chasing down a killer or holding a suspect at gunpoint to keep him from doing something stupid. It was this very fact that made Sherlock moderately more confident lately, confident in the fact that John needed him just as much as he needed John. This only served to make him all the more aggravating.

The Doctor crossed the room slowly making his way to the kitchen only to find that when he got there he didn't know what he was looking for. With a heavy sigh he opened the fridge. Thankfully there was no head in it but there wasn't any food either. He wasn't even hungry he realized upon closing the door. 'I'm just bored' he thought making his way back to the couch, a smile graced his lips as he recalled what Sherlock would do when he was bored, wanton destruction is what Mrs. Hudson called it. 'Well at least he's keeping busy' John glanced over to see Sherlock writing madly on pieces of scratch paper.

"Bored?" Sherlock was peering up at him, his face held a knowing look.

"Yeah, well I suppose I could always try shooting at the wall, seems to help you. Maybe then we could replace this hideous wall paper."

"What could possibly replace this rich tapestry of color" Sherlock spoke without looking up from his activity.

"What about plain white… nah the bullet holes would just be more visible then."

Sherlock stopped writing suddenly. His eyes focusing now on the wall behind Watson. "Not white" he said, his voice sounding far off, "that color gives me the creeps." Sherlock's gaze seemed to be looking somewhere beyond the wall itself, somewhere deep into his own mind.

That's when Sherlock's' mobile rang.

The two men immediately locked eyes, both smiling. Sherlock made to grab it only for John to get there first. "Blast your military training!" Sherlock spat as his friend clicked accept.

"Hello…oh detective inspector… yes it's John…uh huh…we're on our way!" Before John could even hang up Sherlock had grabbed both their coats and was halfway down the stairs.

A few hours later the two men stood in the middle of a graveyard staring at a worn down tomb stone.

"I need you to go back and interview the neighbors again; I know there is something there."

"Where are you gonna be?"

A wicked smile graced Sherlock's face, "at the morgue I need to check one more thing on the body and if I'm right-"

"Which you always think you are"

"Then we'll know for sure who the killer is" Sherlock said triumphantly, ignoring John's remark.

"Then why am I going to the neighbors' house?"

"Because" Sherlock leaned forward looking mildly annoyed, "for some reason just because I say so is not good enough for Lestrade so you have to get the rest of the evidence, meet me at Scotland Yard when you're done."

"Fine then." John watched Sherlock scurry off, talking quietly to himself. Shaking his head the doctor took off in the opposite direction.

-That's when things took an odd turn-

Upon returning to Scotland Yard about an hour later, new evidence fresh in his mind, John made his way up to Lestrades' office. A smile graced his face, the trip had been very enlightening. As annoyed as John always pretended to be when his colleague sent him out to gather information, and this was something John would never tell anyone, he enjoyed the fact that Sherlock trusted him with the task. As foolish as it was it made him feel important on a mental level, that he was not just the guy with the gun but also a fellow detective.

John attempted to clear the smile off his face as he opened the door to Lestrades' office, but upon entering the room he discovered Lestrade was sitting alone behind his very plain desk.

John stared blankly at the detective inspector, before voicing his query.

"Have you seen Sherlock, I figured he would be in here with you… you know, gloating." The last part procured a small smile from Lestrade.

"No, I haven't seen him since this morning. I was sure he was still with you."

"Oh well then I guess he is still at the morgue, I'll be off then."

"Ha, maybe he didn't find what he was looking for."

"Wouldn't be the first time." John scoffed as he departed from the small room, closing the door gently behind him.

As he moved down the hall and out of the building John checked his phone "not a single message, thanks."

Johns cab wound its way through the busy London streets as a strange feeling began to creep up on the doctor.


End file.
